


Empty Sky

by bunnyfication



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 10:37:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnyfication/pseuds/bunnyfication
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[regular!people AU] Curiosity killed the cat. For one Heracles Karpusi it gave a friend, a loved one, and a fair bit of heartbreak. But what is <i>one</i> life to a cat anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: An innocent kiss between minors. Fade-to-black sex ~~between friends~~. Setting before, during and after WW2, so mentions of war stuff. Overuse of flashbacks and unlikely plot twists (tm). Too many cat similes.

Heracles Karpusi opened his front door and looked around his house as if he didn't recognize it. In a way, he didn't.

It was old and rather decrepit these days, but he'd never minded it before. Before, his mother would have called out a greeting the moment he stepped in, berating him for being late to dinner or asking whether he'd fallen asleep somewhere again...whether Heracles had been gone an hour or years. A smile tugged at his lips, and then faded away. She wouldn't call out to him ever again. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

_She'd been so pale, even against the bed sheets, her face drawn. But her eyes had still been as quietly intelligent as always, her face still mildly amused even when faced with all the terror the world had to offer. She seemed to be listening to the radio droning somewhere in the background._

_"Ah, I think those idiots have finally stopped fighting," Heracles' mother mumbled wryly. She gave him a weighing look, and then smiled. She looked impossibly frail, almost as if the sun was shining through her, and it terrified him. Until that moment, he hadn't let himself believe she was actually dying._

_"Don't look like that; I've already lived long enough. Just had to see you'd make it alive past these times. My only son."_

A cat rubbed against Heracles' ankle, pulling him out of his memories. There were fewer cats these days too.

"Are you hungry?" he asked this one, and it gave him a look as if to ask if he was stupid. He nodded and went to dig out something a cat might consider edible. There was little to be found, which he reckoned explained the absence of others. Heracles kept company with the cat for a moment, and then drifted away again.

_"You ought to go see that Englishman who keeps writing. Sounds a bit lonely, if I'm any judge," his mother said with a mischievous light in her eyes._

Then, as now, Heracles shook his head. Arthur Kirkland might have been lonely, but it was because his heart was already elsewhere. As was his own, he thought with a twinge of old pain.

He looked around again. Too many memories were imbedded in these walls. Heracles couldn't see himself leaving his country for good, he'd fought too much for it to do that, but...he felt like he needed a rest from the familiar, a rest even from the open blue sky above him, reminding him of the one he'd lost to it.

*

Arthur was surprised to see him, but welcomed him to the best of his abilities. There seemed to be a lot to do at his country as well, even four years after the war. That was fine, working kept one from thinking too much about the past, they both agreed on that.

Arthur kept getting packages full of canned foods and sugar and chocolate, things that were thin on the ground around them. For all that he seemed to have much need for all of them, Arthur always looked surly while opening them.

Then again, Heracles was never quite sure how genuine _that_ was, except the one time there was coffee in the package. Then, there was no doubting Arthur's reaction. He cursed _"that sodding brat"_ and stomped off, apparently intending to throw the offending product in the ditch beside his garden. However, after fuming for a moment with the opened coffee tin held over the muddy water, Arthur's shoulders slumped, and he closed the tin with an angry click.

Arthur eventually sold the coffee to his neighbour for a high price, which didn't make him happy either. Heracles merely shrugged mentally. He'd never quite understood the man, for all they'd fought together and saved each other's lives more than once.

Arthur gave him a long look over his tea one morning. His eyes were narrowed in consideration.

"If you don't mind me asking, why did you come here?" he asked eventually.

Heracles blinked and shrugged.

"Like I said, I needed a break. A holiday, if you will."

Arthur snorted.

"A holiday? _Here? At this time?_

Heracles supposed it was a valid question, all things considered.

"It's...different," he said eventually. It was true. It tended to be grey here, the people and the houses and the sky especially, hiding behind soggy clouds more often than not. In a way it was depressing, but...Heracles would rather have this vague sorrow than the sharp, all revealing glare of the sun back home. And the grey clouds hid the sky he couldn't bear to look at anymore as well.

"You're different," Arthur told him.

"My mother is dead," Heracles said frankly and then hesitated. "And my...a friend," he'd intended to say more, but the words weren't there.

Arthur seemed to understand anyway.

*

Heracles hadn't had much luggage. Not much to take, and less that he wanted or needed with him. Some clothes, a few pieces of jewellery his mother still had had left. A few letters, from his mother to Africa and other places he'd fought at, and the ones from Kiku.

Heracles had been fourteen back then, visiting relatives with his mother. On a hill near their house, there was an excavated and partially reconstructed ruin. Cats congregated at the place, liking to bask on the white stones. One day, when Heracles came to see them, he found the ruin had attracted another visitor.

The boy was sleeping, in the shade of one marble pillar. He was wearing white clothes, and a straw hat which had fallen to the side. His face was slack and soft with sleep.

Heracles padded closer on quiet feet. A striped cat was curled up next to the sleeping boy. It opened one green eye to give Heracles a look, but deemed him uninteresting. Heracles kneeled next to the sleeping boy and studied him more.

The boy had pale soft skin, pinked slightly on the nose and cheeks by sunburn, and dark straight hair. It fell onto his face like the wings of a crow, Heracles decided. The boy was very pretty, with a small nose and a round face. His lashes were dark as well, and his eyes...his eyes opened suddenly, and the boy started, staring at Heracles in surprise.

The boy stuttered something, wiping at his mouth and blushing furiously as he scrambled to his feet. Heracles shook his head, not understanding the words. The boy looked even more distressed for a second, and then suddenly schooled himself. His shoulders and back drew up into a rigid line, and all expression smoothed off his face. Even his eyes (they were very dark as well) became blank of feeling. Heracles looked on, almost amazed at the sudden transformation.

He stood up as well, only then realizing how much smaller the other boy was. He was bowing now, and saying what Heracles assumed was an apology in Greek, though the boy's accent was thick enough to make understanding difficult. For that matter, he couldn't understand why he'd need to apologize for anything.

He only understood later, that for Kiku Honda, being seen in a situation in which he wasn't controlling himself fully was the worst sort of humiliation, and an insult on the other party besides. He also learned that Kiku reacted to embarrassment like a cat, by bristling first, and then acting like no such thing had ever happened later. It was rather endearing, when it wasn't annoying.

That summer, he found he could not stay away from the foreign boy...Japanese, he found out, visiting Greece with his father, who was some sort of diplomat. Heracles didn't really care for all that, he just wanted to get to know this person who was so closed off, except in sleep. There seemed to be a promise of something hidden underneath the surface there, some lost treasure. Like the unassuming earth that Heracles had swept aside in his mother's garden, to find a brilliant image made of tiny bright stones.

 _You're too curious, it'll cost you one day,"_ his mother had warned him once, but she'd sounded more proud than chastising.

Be that as it may, Heracles _was_ curious, so he made friends with Kiku Honda, despite the firm and cool politeness the other tried to counter him with. Even that, Heracles understood quite soon, was more because Kiku was still embarrassed over their initial meeting than any active dislike. In fact, once that waned, he was quite glad to have a native guide.

They walked about on the seashores and orange groves and sparse forests to be found in the area, and whatever historical sites they could find. Kiku learned to speak Greek better, and Heracles learned a few words of Japanese, but more importantly, they also learnt to understand each other, the kind of understanding that has little to do with words.

The kind of understanding that let them know what the other meant by a hand gesture or an expression or simply looking away. They could sit next to each other listening to the wind rustling the leaves of the olive grove, not saying a word, and know exactly what the other meant.

The summer was long, an eternal stretch of perfect days (perfect, at least, in hindsight) but it had to end eventually. On the last day before Kiku had to travel back, they visited the ruin where they'd met for the first time.

That day, they didn't speak much as they walked over to the hill and climbed it. Kiku's head was bowed, and his face hidden under the rim of his hat.

When they stood under the pillars and looked at the view over the sloping hills underneath, wide blue sky all around, Kiku spoke haltingly.

"We are going by...sky,"

"By plane? That's rare,"

"Yes," Kiku answered, and they were quiet once more. He glanced at Heracles, and then shied away again.

"I...I thank you, for everything,"

Heracles found he hated goodbyes, all of a sudden. He didn't say anything, but he supposed his face must have told something to his friend, because Kiku reached out a hand, and then hesitated and let it fall, his face flushing.

"I will write," he said suddenly, and then his expression became unreadable, which on him meant he felt he was doing something embarrassing and possibly risky. "If that is acceptable?"

Heracles didn't hesitate grasping Kiku's hand. The slight flinch of the other boy only stopped Heracles from drawing nearer, as he wanted to do for some reason. No, not for some reason, because he loved this strange boy. A boy he might never see again.

Heracles hugged him, and Kiku made a small sound of surprise before freezing completely. Heracles held on, until he stopped struggling, and stood still. Not relaxed, but near enough.

"I'll miss you," Heracles said, and kissed him.

*

He worried that Kiku wouldn't write, but he did, eventually.

They wrote in Greek and Japanese in turns, gradually building up their understanding. Kiku never mentioned the kiss, so Heracles assumed that had been swept into the category of things too shameful to remember.

Instead, Kiku wrote about his home, describing it so vividly that Heracles felt as if he'd been there himself. He could imagine the cherry trees scattering their petals in spring, and the cool wind sweeping through Kiku's house in autumn. The summers that were as hot as the ones in Greece, but more humid, and the cold of the winter barely held at bay by a coal warmer.

Kiku wrote about the city of Nagasaki, its strange mix of native and foreign influences, present in architecture and the minds of people, and of the shipyards, that made one think of distant places.

 _I've stood there for a long time sometimes, thinking about all the places those ships travel to,_ Kiku wrote once, and it was the closest to _I miss you too_ he ever got.

Heracles often went back to read the previous letters when his understanding of Japanese became better, finding details and meanings he hadn't caught before. He wondered if Kiku did the same thing.

Kiku wrote about culture, and his studies. Sometimes briefly of what was happening in his life, and very seldom of his feelings. Even so, Heracles got the feeling he might have known more about those than anyone else. They grew closer over the years, and Kiku became more frank in his letters, and still Heracles wondered if a part of the reason for his daring was the distance between them.

The letters only stopped when the second world war started. In 1947, Heracles received a letter, dated years earlier.

It looked slightly yellowed and scuffed, and he wondered how it had even found him, but that was only a distant thought. He walked to his room as if in a haze. Heracles' hands were steady as he opened the envelope with a knife, but there was a slow burning dread in his stomach even before he read the words.

His heart started beating harder as he did read them, and he wanted to run, run over the distance of time and space...too late, _too late_ Parts of it were a blur in his memory, but some were still as sharp and cutting as the day Heracles read them.

_\--they say there are no options. I do want to keep my family and country safe, so I must accept that, I suppose. ~~But to you, only to you Heracles, I can say~~_

Crossed out, like meticulous Kiku never did. He must have written in a hurry, or had only this one sheet to use. Even Kiku's handwriting looked hurried, Heracles had thought distantly.

_I wish you could have visited, or that I could have visited your country again. In another life, perhaps._

There was no goodbye in it, not even a dedication. Cut off.

His mother came in then, just as Heracles had finished reading. She was already ill then, but Heracles didn't know it yet, hadn't noticed. That day, when she saw his face, she didn't ask what was wrong, just pulled him into her arms.

He only realized then that he was crying, his body shaking with the quiet sobs. His mother hummed.

"You loved him, didn't you?" she asked much later.

"Yes," Heracles answered simply, the _"is that a problem?"_ , hanging in the air between them.

His mother shook her head, smiling sadly.

"We've both had bad luck in love, you and I," was all she said.

*

Perhaps Heracles had recognized something in Arthur back in Africa, that he also had someone far away in his mind. Though in his case, Heracles got the feeling he hadn't parted on good terms with that someone.

Arthur, when he wasn't stiffly polite and proper, could spit venom like no-one's business, and he was _worse_ with people he actually liked. His cooking skills created another sort of poison again, and then there was that strange obsession with magic he had...but deep down, Arthur was a good man.

Easy to rub the wrong way, but soft and fuzzy if one knew how to treat him right. The odd thing was, to Heracles it seemed like most of his closest friends did the exact opposite. They practically went out of their way to annoy the poor guy. Like that French man...Francis, wasn't it? Heracles supposed some people just had strange ways to show they cared.

He was alone at Arthur's house when yet another of those mysterious packages arrived. American stamps...and a letter, this time. Heracles left it there, going to make some food from Arthur's meagre resources. Then he came back, and stared at the letter some more.

Finally, Heracles boiled some water and steamed the envelope open.

It was written in English, in a messy, determined sort of handwriting. Short and to the point.

_Hey, you limey_

_Another portion of your totally unofficial "Marshall Aid" has arrived, bet you're happy! No, don't thank me, a hero's gotta do what a hero's gotta do._

_Anyway, assuming you're still alive and all since I haven't been getting these sent back, but you could call sometime too. I assume you _have_ phone lines there in the old country? Hate writing these stupid letters._

_So, bye._

_A. F. J._

Heracles felt a bit bad about reading Arthur's private letters, but it was almost worth the guilt to be able to say: "So, this person sending these packages, cute at all?"

And watch Arthur suddenly choke on his tea and turn very red. Heracles felt he understood a bit why his other friends always teased him. Arthur just made it far too rewarding. And Heracles didn't entirely believe his mumble about it being just a "stupid relative" either.

*

Arthur's house was big. Large and sprawling and full of unused rooms, with a large yard that had mostly gone wild, except for a few patches Arthur had tended to himself. Heracles watched how he kneeled down to weed a certain bed of pink roses, despite already having worked a full day. He looked tired, but oddly calm, and Heracles made sure not to disturb him.

"Wish I could fix it all up properly...but it's too much work for one, and can't exactly afford to hire anyone else, not these days," Arthur said another time, when it was raining and the garden looked especially dismal. "Maybe later."

The cloudy weather turned the house even more shadowed than usual, the soft pattering on the roof cocooning them in. Arthur seemed especially sombre as well, looking out of the window.

It was not an entirely bad look for him, Heracles reckoned, though...

He stepped closer, feeling the coolness of the day soaking through the glass pane, all the more reason to draw closer to Arthur, because he was warm and _alive_ after all.

Kissing him was as it had always been, Arthur bristling at first and then melting into it, or taking up the assault himself, as it may be.

This time, though, he drew back after a while, green eyes dilated but wary.

"This..."

"You object?" Heracles asked mildly.

Arthur looked away, frowning as if he wasn't sure himself.

"Isn't it rather pointless?" he asked at last.

Heracles smiled, in a way that was neither very happy nor sad.

"I have nothing better in mind. Do you?"

"Well, if you say it like that..."

Later, lying in Arthur's bed, sated and sleepy, Heracles spoke up again.

"If you can, you ought to contact them."

"What?" Arthur asked, raising his eyebrows.

"The person you're thinking of," Heracles answered simply.

There was a long silence, and then Arthur coughed, an amusingly proper sound for someone lying naked on a bed with another person.

"What...how can you know that's a good idea?"

"I would if I could," Heracles said quietly.

Arthur was quiet for an even longer time after that. Heracles had almost fallen asleep, when Arthur suddenly spoke again, his tone distant.

"My father had a lot. Prestigious lineage and even a bit of money to go with it, which was rare enough even back then. Bad luck with sons though. My elder brothers are alive, you know, at least as far as I've heard. They just all pissed off dad badly enough for him to disinherit them. What little there was left to inherit after the wars, anyway.

Might have disinherited me too, if he'd lived long enough..."

"Is that so?" Heracles said softly, wrapping his arms around Arthur. This didn't seem like a story he enjoyed telling.

"He died when I was fourteen, not quite old enough to have gotten into serious enough trouble. Went on a car ride with his new young wife...like in a goddamn novel, isn't it?"

Arthur gave out a small, dry laugh. He licked his lips.

"She was American. A widow too, with a young son. Alfred. Dad had had time to change his will, so Alfred was getting a pretty good part of the inheritance too, _if_ he followed certain stipulations. I guess I..."

Arthur stopped again, his expression wistful and distant.

"I really wanted him to have it, that inheritance, everything. Even though we weren't related by blood, I felt he...that he was the only family I had left. I guess that's why it didn't work out in the end. He grew up, and didn't _want to_ live along anyone's regulations, and trying to force him to just made it worse."

Heracles didn't say anything, knowing sometimes a presence was more comforting than any words.

Eventually Arthur huffed.

"Fucking soppy rubbish, all of it. But what can you expect, I was just a kid myself, and children are stupid," he said disdainfully, more like his usual prickly self again.

Heracles just hummed, and settled to sleep nuzzling against his neck. Arthur sighed, a sound that was equal parts fond and exasperated, but he didn't shake Heracles off, which for him meant he liked it.

*

It happened in Greece, and had for some reason stuck in Heracles' mind more than any of the other minor battles he'd fought during the endless years of war.

He wouldn't have cared, usually, after so many years of killing, but the Italian looked positively like a child at that moment, begging for his life with tears running down his face. Sounded like a child too, spewing idiotic excuses in broken Greek.

"--I've never even been with a girl...oh, and, and...are you from around here? Are you?"

Heracles shook his head wordlessly, keeping his gun aimed at the boy kneeling on the dusty ground. The Italian licked his lips nervously, trying to (Heracles couldn't believe it) _smile_ through his tears.

"See, I have relatives...not here maybe, but in Greece! I-I think grandpa said he lived here, his...Oh god please don't shoot!" he cried out, cringing when Heracles' finger tightened on the trigger in surprise.

When no shot rang out, the Italian opened one eye, peering at Heracles worriedly.

"Your name?" Heracles asked tonelessly, and the Italian smiled again, tentatively hopeful.

"Ah, it's Feliciano...Feliciano Vargas?"

The last name was familiar, from a yellowed out envelope his mother had, and Heracles smiled bitterly. Grandfather? Looked like the bastard had been as busy as his mother had implied then...

There was an explosion somewhere of to the side. The Italian's eyes widened in terror, but Heracles didn't even twitch. Looked like the rest of his team had gotten the enemy camp then. Seemed to have crushed what was left of the Italian's spirit as well, because he was crying again, whimpering little sobs like a beaten dog. Pitiful.

And then, he glanced up, at something behind Heracles, and the sudden brightening of his face was as revealing as if he'd called out...Heracles whirled around, seeing the man who'd tried to sneak up on them. Too bad his friend couldn't lie worth shit.

It all happened in a second, both of them aiming at each other, shots ringing out almost simultaneously. Except that just before Heracles pushed on the trigger, someone barrelled into his legs from behind. 'Damn' he thought, as a piercing pain flowered out from his shoulder and he slammed into the ground. Distantly, Heracles could hear the Italian babbling.

"Ludwig! Ludwig, are you all right...oh, I think you killed him." the last was said in a more subdued tone. Heracles didn't correct him, hoping...but he felt himself turned around, the sun biting into his eyes. His shoulder hurt so much he almost blanked out just from that.

A low voice said something he didn't catch, and then the Italian piped up again.

"If the camp's...gone, we should just run, right? It's not like...just this once, ok? Let's leave him too, we shouldn't waste bullets, you said so yourself, right?"

It was a ludicrous argument, and Heracles waited a finishing shot any moment. It never came.

*

"Huh, so he was your cousin then?" Arthur said when Heracles told him the story.

Heracles shrugged.

"Maybe. All I really know is that he had the same last name as a father I never met. Probably a pretty common name too."

"Strange coincidence, anyway..." Arthur mumbled. He seemed distracted, looking through the window with furrowed brows. "Who the hell..." Arthur mumbled, as Heracles heard the growl of a car pulling into the roadway. Then Arthur's eyes widened, and without saying a word, he practically ran to his front door and out of it.

Heracles followed at a more sedate pace, and found Arthur yelling to young blond who'd stepped out of the car, the motor still running in the background.

"The hell are you doing here...and stop that damn motor already!" Arthur screeched, and the other guy threw his hands in the air, reaching out to turn the key.

Despite the less than gracious welcome, the man was smiling at Arthur, as if he couldn't quite stop himself.

"You haven't changed a bit, still the same old grouch," he said, so fondly it was hard to say whether Arthur reddened in anger or embarrassment. They stared at each other, and Heracles looked on, mildly amused at the scene.

The stranger leaned forward, and opened his mouth as if to say something, when he suddenly noticed Heracles standing at the doorway. He frowned for a second, before the frown was pushed aside by a wide (and only slightly fake) smile.

"Hey Arthur, who's that?" he asked, and Arthur, who'd apparently forgotten Heracles' existence in the last moment as well, flushed again for some reason.

"Well, that's..." he gathered himself and coughed, "I mean to say, let me introduce you to Heracles Karpusi, with whom I fought together in Africa. Heracles, this is Alfred Jones, a...an old acquaintance."

"Nice to meet you Mr. Jones," Heracles said mildly. So _this_ was the infamous Alfred then?

Alfred Jones stepped closer with long steps, and shook Heracles' hand vigorously, his wide smile gaining an almost aggressive edge.

"Just say Alfred."

Neither Arthur nor Alfred mentioned their shared history, tiptoeing around it rather transparently. They did argue about pretty much everything else it was possible to argue on though. They also had this habit of every now and then just stopping to stare each other in the eyes. It made Heracles feel practically invisible, each time, not that he minded that.

 _"Arthur, he's a...grouchy old fogey, yeah, but...special somehow, you know?"_ Was how Mr. Jones described their relationship, once when Arthur was safely out of earshot.

Arthur, in turn, would only mumble something offensive when asked, but the way his ears turned red was a clear indication that he was actually still more fond of the American then he'd ever admit, even if Heracles hadn't suspected that to begin with.

Heracles was quietly entertained by the spectacle the two made, circling each other like cats in...well, like two cats. But it wasn't his place to intrude, so he mostly just enjoyed the show. It was rather amusing how Alfred reacted the one time Heracles intentionally got too close to Arthur. Mainly by making a scene and causing the older man to yell at him, thus diverting his attention effectively. Quite childish, and endearing, in it's own way.

Heracles wondered what Kiku would have thought about the two. Whether he'd have been appalled or if they could have shared the amusement. He'd never know.

*

One evening after nightfall, the discussion turned to the war. Heracles mostly listened idly, until Alfred mentioned that he'd fought in the Pacific. Alfred then recounted his heroics in as boisterous a tone as could be expected. In the flickering candlelight, his gestures sent wild shadows dancing onto the walls.

"There was this one time...I'm still not sure how it happened, but somehow this Japanese guy managed to get a pretty bad hit. 'course I got my own back, but basically both of us had to crash land in the water near this little island. It was almost impressive, him even managing it on that piece of scrap metal, and almost out of fuel too, like I found out later...but still, I was pretty pissed. Thought I'd go to the guy and punch him, only he was half dead when I got to him, and the plane was both burning and sinking too," Alfred stopped, scratching at his head sheepishly. "So basically I dragged him out and swam ashore."

Arthur was shaking his head and smiling crookedly, but he didn't say anything.

"Don't you even start, you should have seen how pathetic this kid looked...anyway, it took a while before I managed to get in contact with any of my people so...I was stuck there for a while with that guy. He was...surprisingly civil, even when he stopped being almost dead,"

"Oh, so you made friends with an enemy in the middle of the war?" Arthur asked, eyebrows raised incredulously. "Only you Alfred, only you."

Alfred shrugged.

"Guess so. He even spoke a little bit English, told me his name was Kiku Honda. Before...well."

Heracles didn't say anything, didn't even twitch. That was another common name, probably. Had to be.

Alfred's expression had turned uncommonly serious.

"See, we took him prisoner, this was a bit before the war ended...actually we were stuck on that island so long it wasn't long after that. And I don't know it for a fact, but I reckon the guy's from Nagasaki, which, you know..."

Arthur leaned back, and the shadows hid his expression.

"Read about it. Must be hard, having that happen to your home."

"Yeah, suppose so," Alfred agreed. "Though I guess there was no other way," he added.

"Maybe," Arthur said noncommittally.

Heracles spoke, in a carefully even tone: "And then?"

"Well, he took it pretty hard, obviously," Alfred answered grimly. "Had to stop him from...well, he hasn't said a word ever since."

Arthur turned sharply towards him, eyes narrowing.

"How would you know?" he asked.

Alfred shrugged once more, again with that sheepish look.

"Well, I've sort of...been looking after him, didn't know what else to...guess I sort of felt responsible, after everything..."

"You do realize people aren't..." Arthur flailed to find the right word "kittens you could just adopt like that? I mean seriously Alfred..."

He went on, but Heracles wasn't listening anymore. He'd closed his eyes and leaned his back against the chair. Later, he would ask to meet this unlikely friend of Alfred's, where ever he happened to be.

But he would not let himself feel hope, not yet.

*

He didn't, really. It was easy to mention to Alfred he could speak Japanese. Perhaps hearing a familiar language might help?

Alfred's hotel was a relatively new building, furnished in light colours. Heracles recalled faintly that Arthur had mentioned it had been used as a hospital during the bombings. It wasn't particularly luxurious, merely clean and airy and...no wonder they'd used the building as a hospital. It felt like one.

Like a hospital in a dream, slightly distorted from reality, or perhaps that was just the mood Heracles was in. Following Alfred, the hallway felt too long, but Heracles forced himself not to hurry. Not even when the door was opened, and he could see the man sitting in a chair next to the window. Could only see his back, actually.

"Good day," Heracles said, and his own voice seemed to come from somewhere far away. He only realized afterwards he'd spoken in Greek.

The man at the window didn't react at first, and then he turned, very slowly.

"--Heracles? Hey man, is something wrong?" Alfred was asking. Had perhaps been asking for a while. Heracles shook his head, not even looking at him.

Instead, he stepped over the distance to the chair, sinking to his knees before it.

"Kiku," he said quietly, taking the other's hands. One of them was bandaged, and Heracles held that one even more carefully.

Kiku's eyes were wide as if in surprise, but Heracles couldn't read any recognition there, not for sure. It hardly mattered for him. _Alive._ That was already more than he'd hoped for.

"I lost you," Heracles said, his voice as calm as always but scratchy now.

After a long moment, Kiku started, like a man in a dream. He lifted his hand, barely.

"H-Heracles?"

His voice was rusty from disuse, and much deeper than Heracles remembered. He smiled, at the happiness of getting to hear it, new or not, and nodded.

Kiku shook his head, his face still blank.

"Lost...still lost," he said cryptically.

Lost the war? His home, family, precious honour? Lost himself? It could have been any of them, or all. Be that as it may, Heracles knew what to say, somehow.

"I'll help you find it," he promised. _And if it can't be found, we'll make something new,_ he added in his mind. There would be time to say it aloud, later.

*

"I remember," Kiku said, standing with Heracles under a chilly autumn sky, blue for once.

Heracles expected for him to continue, but he had to wait for a while. They'd almost reached the small copse of trees on the other side of the park when Kiku spoke again.

"Or rather, I couldn't. I was sitting in the plane, ready to...to do my duty, and suddenly I realized we never got to eat moussaka like we planned to. Such an odd thought, but somehow it...distracted me."

"Oh," Heracles said. "I could make you some, even if the ingredients...might not be quite the same here."

"That's fine," Kiku answered politely.

Heracles smiled at that. As much as he hoped they could be less formal, the politeness was...normal, for Kiku, which had taken some time to achieve. It was a start.

He stepped a bit closer, and Kiku didn't back away, and as they kept walking, their hands kept brushing occasionally. It was not as close as Heracles wanted, and perhaps they'd never be that close. But it was something.

Kiku glanced at him from the corner of his eyes while he thought Heracles wouldn't notice. It was a peculiar sort of weighing glance, as difficult to read as usual.

"A relative of mine once told me a story," Kiku said thoughtfully, "that if two people are...destined to be together, the gods tie a red string between them. And no matter how much the string may tangle or stretch, it cannot be broken, ever."

They stopped, looking at each other. A cold, gusty wind was shaking the trees around them, but neither moved. Kiku looked away first, and perhaps the colour on his face is only caused by the cold breeze.

"But of course it's only an old story," he added.

Heracles nodded.

"It must hurt, having that string pulled too tight," he said when they continued walking side by side.

"Yes, it does," Kiku answered, and didn't meet his eyes afterwards.

Heracles bit his lip not to laugh, and glanced at the sky. Not unexpectedly, clouds were once again creeping over it. They were still in England after all.

"We should hurry, it might rain yet," he said. "And we've still got a way to go."

They did, in more ways than one. Where-ever they might be going, it'd be a shared journey if Heracles had any say in it. And perhaps there'd be a new home at the end of that road for the both of them.

Maybe. It was worth a try.

 

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> All hail ~~hero!Alfred~~ deux ex machina!


End file.
